The Roots Run Deep
by OtakuAshels
Summary: "I've been with you since the beginning, ever since you first became a country of sorts, ever since Roanoke" "I remember you all the way from the beginning. You were always there" "I will always be there. Even if you hurt me America" "I expect you to keep that promise England" There is a fine line between brotherly love and the ever searched for "I love you"
1. To the New World

**Hey thanks for picking our fic off of the electronic shelf! This is a fic of the relationship between America and England ALL the way from the beginning.**

**What do you get when you take a history and an american studies major that are obsessed with hetalia? OVERALLY STUDIED fanfics!7**

**So go ahead give it a read and tell us what you think**

**Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia**

**Thanks:**

**Collab with Shuriken7 (archiveofourown)**

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><p><strong>~*~ Chapter 1<strong> ~*~

_The Court of Queen Elizabeth, 1584_

The room was too large to truly suffocate anyone, but to England it may as well have been a box. The mutterings and discussions of courtiers was tiring. He did his best to stand beside the throne and not embarrass his Queen. So there he stood, stock still, looking like any other nobleman and listening to the Spanish ambassador droll on and on. The man would look to him every so often, no doubt recognizing precisely who he was. Spain certainly wasn't forgetting any time soon since the last time they met on the ocean. England had been pleased to present that gold to his Queen. The look on Spain's face had been worth more than that.

It took all of his discipline to stand still. However, he could not help looking about the throne room. Despite the array of candles lit about the room, sunlight poured in through tall windows of glass. The draperies of rose red matched the carpet that scrolled from the door to his Queen's throne. He was thankful for the chill offered from the large gray stones that the castle was crafted from. The room was hot and a concern burned in his breast for Elizabeth. It must be even worse for her as she was in layer upon layer of clothing that his monotheistic people deemed appropriate. He risked a glance down at Elizabeth and she glanced back at him with a small smile on her face. His lips twitched in a suppressed grin, she was as bored by the Spanish complaints about English pirates as he. She held up a pale hand to the men to silence them. She was about to open her mouth when a ruckus occurred at one end of the room, gaining her attention and England's.

Striding brazenly down the middle of the room was a man with an entourage behind him and carrying chests. Two men, the likes of which England had never seen before, followed in the train looking terrified at all of the colorful fashions of court. The Spanish ambassador glared daggers at the man.

"You are not welcome here, pirate!" The man declared and moved to prevent the new arrival from coming any closer.

"Let him through." commanded Elizabeth.

"Your Majesty, this man is…"

"He can tell me himself what he is." she said, with a look that could wither greater men. England moved from his position behind the throne to stand beside it. Though there was no obvious threat to his Queen it put his mind at ease to place his body closer to hers. This arrival was a welcome diversion from the monotony of court life.

"I am an explorer, my Queen. I have come from a new world." he said, bowing low.

"What is your name?"

"Walter Raleigh." he replied. England had heard the name before while sifting through writs that the crown provided when funding explorations. Spain may have gotten to the New World first, but he was not going to get to lay claim to all of its wonders and riches.

He paraded some of the things he had brought with him from the New World, describing that he had proclaimed the land Virginia, in honor of the Queen. She joked that he would have to change the name when he took a husband. The court laughed. The Spanish ambassador was incensed that the man was getting such a reception.

"This man is a pirate!" he declared again, moving forward and standing beside Raleigh.

Raleigh looked at the other man, "I would consider the gold a gift from the Spanish ship, considering that I was so generous not to just sink her." England ducked behind the throne and smothered a laugh. He liked this man. Elizabeth did not even bother to hide her mirth.

"You interest me, Mr. Raleigh." she said. She held out her hand in England's direction and he took it, kneeling by her side. She leaned in close, "Go and speak to him. Find out about this New World." England nodded and walked down the steps to meet with him. He gestured that they should move away from the Spanish delegation, England certainly did not want Spain to know that there would soon be more competition than he could handle for the virgin lands on the other side of the ocean. He could feel Spain's eyes burning into his back and he couldn't help the smirk that lifted his lips in amusement. _Daft Spaniard don't you know that I will always get my way! _he thought.

"Her Majesty wishes you to tell me about the New World." he said, when they were out of earshot of other members of the court. Raleigh looked him up and down, clearly seeing nothing more than a young man that was barely older than a boy. England looked back at him, certain that his centuries would show in his eyes even if they did not in his body.

"Who are you?" Raleigh asked.

England smiled, "I am your nation. And _I_ want to know about this New World."

Raleigh was filled with stories that got England's blood singing, what a grand place this new land must be! What kind of nations may dwell there? England listened to the stories until well after the torches had been lit and the stars took their place in the sky.

The corridors were dark, yet comfortable, as he made his way towards the Queen's chambers to tell her what he had learned. To encourage her, as Raleigh wanted, to send him back across the sea. And this time, England was determined to be on board the ship.

Coming around a corner quickly he slammed straight into someone.

"I apo-"

"An apology, how delightful, _oui?" _

"Good God, when did you get here?!" England exclaimed, moving as far back from France as possible. The other nation grinned. He leaned against the wall, clad in the best of the recent fashions, his breeches and waist coat trimmed to accentuate his body. England adjusted his own waistcoat, realizing that he'd wrinkled his clothing throughout the evening of conversation.

"And here your Queen claims to be the Defender of the Faith and her own nation blasphemes." France tutted.

"You're hardly one to talk!" England bit back the profanity that was swelling in his throat.

"Perhaps I did not come here to talk." France teased, reaching for him.

"Be serious!" England said, swatting the hand away.

France chuckled and continued to smile even when England glared at him. He sighed and said, "In that case, _Angleterre, _I arrived here not long ago. My King has some things to discuss with your Queen and he only trusted me to carry the letter." He pulled a sealed paper from his tunic, the wax seal of the King of France overlarge on it. He walked past England and waved the piece of parchment close to him. England was unable to hide the annoyance that was surely painted across his features. As always the French country was dressed in obnoxious bright colors, annoying blue eyes surrounded by overly attended long locks of blond hair. France was pompous, flamboyant and frankly an outright git.

England held out a hand for it, "Well, in that case you may as well deliver it to me."

France tucked the paper back away, "I'm afraid not. However, if you want to spend time with me, dear friend, you know where my chambers are." France smirked at him and walked away.

"We are not friends! And in your dreams!" he shouted after him, his voice overloud in the empty hallway. France chuckled as he disappeared around a corner, blowing England a kiss that was far lewder than it should have been.

England walked away from France, shaking. He was not sure if it was from distress or anger. How dare that bastard act so high and mighty! He stomped down the hall heading for his quarters. He needed a moment to himself to regain control and not feel so affected. The news from White and the encounter with France made him feel like he needed a drink. He passed an open corridor and felt foreboding settle into his gut. He stopped and turned.

Damn it.

"Little Brother, who is up your ass today?" Scotland dropped a hand on England's head and ruffled his hair. Too hard.

"You it seems." England said, moving out from under the rough hand. Scotland's sardonic grin transformed into a frown.

"And whose fault is that, eh?"

"Your bloody Queen's." England said, walking away from his brother. Not wanting to get into Scotland's latest drama. Apparently, some supernatural had a grudge today. The only thing that could be worse was Wales showing up to inform him that he'd _accidentally _let Ireland land on his coast for an invasion. He could hear Scotland following after him. England's problems ran through his mind like a tapestry of the tale. His colony was going poorly, France was sniffing around for weakness, word about Spain getting uppity... He whirled on Scotland. He could solve one problem right now.

He thrust a finger into Scotland's chest. Scotland raised his eyebrows as though he were humoring a child. England would show him he was not a child anymore. "You need to stop being so cozy with my enemies. I forbid you from associating with France!"

Scotland snorted, "_You _forbid _me._"

"Your queen and mine are cousins."

"So is France's king."

"I don't give a damn about that. I forbid it!"

Scotland stepped closer to him. At this distance the difference in their heights was made more apparent. England glared up into Scotland's face. Scotland's face cracked into a grin, he flicked England on the forehead. "You forget something, baby brother. You don't rule me." Scotland said, his voice low, threatening. He stepped around England.

"Maybe not yet." England said, his own voice low.

Scotland stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you should tell your queen to stop her scheming before she loses her head."

"Elizabeth would not dare."

"Mary risks both our safety with her schemes."

Scotland turned away, "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Somehow I don't believe that." Scotland did not move. The accusation was met with stony silence. England knew he had him. Scotland straightened and took a deep breath.

"Be careful about getting too big for your britches, England." he said, before walking on.

"What is that supposed to mean!?"

Scotland did not answer, just continued on his way. England swallowed the anger that was threatening to burrow up into his chest. As much as a fight with Scotland would make him feel better, the other apparently was not up for it. He would have Scotland bow to him one day. He'd decided it long ago. The Scots Queen better watch herself. He headed towards his own queen's rooms trying to banish the unpleasant thoughts about his brother.

His announcement came and he was admitted to the inner chamber. Queen Elizabeth sat with all of her ladies around her. "Were you yelling at a certain French nation, England?" she teased. England felt a blush rise to his cheeks, but tried to push it down. A sense of being a young child that was being scolded filled his mind, then disappearing when he saw the faint smile of amusement gracing her features. Mirth made Her Majesty's eyes bright.

"I was not aware that he was here."

"Nevermind that," she said, a delicate wave of her small hand, "Tell me what Mr. Raleigh has told you about the New World." She gestured to a chair beside her and he sat, settling into the soft cushion before launching into some of the stories he had heard. They spoke all night and only came to their senses as the sun rose up outside the window.

England yawned into his breakfast, trying to hide it from the other nation he'd been so unfortunate to have to dine with. The French were here with some kind of discussion that neither France nor his ambassadors would tell him anything about. England considered his escape, but it was thwarted when France leaned closer to him on the bench and said, "Will you accompany me fishing? The weather is so fine today."

"Over my my dead..." England began.

"England." Elizabeth interrupted, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, my lady?"

She leaned close to him and whispered, "Play nice."

England frowned and wondered if she was serious. She leaned away with a laugh and turned to one of the other courtiers. England sighed, she was serious. "France, it appears that I will be able to accompany you fishing." he said in a begrudging tone.

France looked over the top of England's head to smile at Queen Elizabeth, "Thank you, your Majesty. I will greatly enjoy his company."

England wondered if it was possible for a nation to die of humiliation.

After settling as far a distance as he could, he dropped his line into the water and tried to ignore France's inane babbling about nonsense. Choosing instead to focus on the land around him, England felt a sense of pride and love stretch all the way to the ends of his limbs. The river water glittered like fairy dust in the morning light. The glitter continued on at a much more subtle rate as his eyes traveled along grass that thickened as it grew further and further from the bank, morning dew beginning to burn away. The soft chirp of birds and the disgruntled conversations of ducks were like music to his ears in comparison to the croaks of his current sun beat down warmly on his face letting the drowsiness he felt in his bones come to the surface. His eyelids were getting heavier and heavier...

"_Angleterre! _You've got something on the line!"

"What?" he said sleepily, waking when the rod began to yank out of his hands. He gripped it harder, but he began to tip forward. With a splash he collapsed into the water and came up sputtering. France doubled over in laughter at the sight of him. England trudged through the shallow water to him trying to ignore the uncomfortable clinging of his clothing . England glared at him from the bottom of the bank shoving his now sopping blond fringe from his eyes. "Give me a hand up will you?"

France offered his hand and England used the opportunity to drag him off the bank and into the water. It was England's turn to laugh.

"How dare you!" France shouted enraged, splashing childishly as he fought to right himself in his newly water-logged state

"Now you look proper, Frog." England laughed, France looked positively murderous.

"What are you two doing?"

England turned away from France to look at the man who'd joined them standing on the bank. He looked out of place in his colorful clothing that was of a different style than France's or England's.

"Finland! We were... uh... fishing." said England, fully realizing his state.

"Doesn't look like it."

"Yes, see a fish!" said France, also not wanting to look the fool. Luck would have it, they hadn't scared off all of the fish in the river with their antics and he was able to snatch up a wriggling silver fish. Finland looked at them incredulously for a moment and dropped down on the bank.

England examined him for a moment, "What happened to your head?"

Finland reached up into his hair with a frustrated sigh, a large lump was on the side of his skull. He pulled his knees up to his chest and frowned at his feet. "It was terrible! Sweden and I were working on a settlement in the New World and Netherlands came and beat us out of it!"

"Oh?"

"It was such a nice place too, only there was something strange about it."

"What was strange about it?"

"Well, I suppose it wasn't strange per say. It's just there was this little boy out in the forest. He didn't seem to be from the settlement..."

"Wait! You mean there was someone like us?" France exclaimed, dropping the fish with a splash.

Finland though for a moment, "Maybe. But that would mean..."

"A little brother..." They all said at once. England only had to take one look at France to know what he was thinking. This new country would be _his _brother if he had anything to say about it. England had to get there first.

"I need to get back to the court to change. Her Majesty will be expecting me." He climbed out of the water and started towards his horse before France had even gathered his wits.

"England, you...!"

"See you, France! Finland!" Swinging onto his favorite chesnut mare he rode as quickly as he could, finding the location of his Queen immediately once he arrived back at the palace. Without even a thought to his state he ran to her. She was alone in her study pouring over maps and documents.

"England, why do you look...?"

"France dunked me in the river. But nevermind that, Bess! I need permission to go with Raleigh to start a colony across the sea."


	2. Roanoke

**Well here is chapter 2, I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter.**

**Enjoy**

**Read and Review please. Reviewing helps the writers know if they need to work on something specific or the readers are happy with the way it is :)**

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><p>~*~ Chapter Two ~*~<p>

To compare the salty air of the ocean to the air of London was like comparing a common sow to a pure bred steed. The ocean air always came out on top. England inhaled deeply running his heavily gloved hand across the gunwale with almost a lover's affection. Sliding his fingers over the nicks and grooves of the wood, a certain calmness filled his center. Though the nation was happy to stand in his Queen's court, when he was by her side that meant he could protect her with his own strength. But to say that it was his favorite place would be an absolute lie, the best place to be was at sea. To ride up in a female queen of wood on top of ocean waves whose temperament was a secret to all but the men of the sea.

"Ah, Mr. Kirkland good morning." a voice quickly brought England back to reality as he looked at the man that approached.

"Ah, Richard good morning, I hope that a good night's sleep was graced to you" Richard nodded leaning back against a stack of roped crates.

"As much as a man can sleep upon such a rocky vessel." he responded and England looked over the human thoughtfully. He had so wanted to travel to the new world with Raleigh yet the man would not travel back and he had graced the important task to the captain, Richard Greenville. England had not been so sure, but Raleigh placed much faith in the man and over the last couple weeks he had grown to like the individual very much.

"Reminds me of a mother rocking the cradle of her young." England shrugged only to have his comment ended with the cursing of a sailor. Looking up the men stared at one of the crew men fighting hard against a knot. "Ah, poor lad" he crossed his arms looking up.

"We should get someone to help him." Grenville said looking around only to have a low whistle from the Englishmen that stood adjacent. A cry of surprise drew his attention upwards once more as suddenly the knot came undone. The blond Brit chuckled in amusement, curses of surprise replacing those of anger.

"Mr. Kirkland, with the magic again?" Grenville muttered, rubbing at his arms. The man in question merely quirked his head in amusement turning his mouth upwards.

"Ah, yes, magic makes you uncomfortable. I forgot. " he commented.

"Well, it is rather frowned upon by the church."

"But, Richard, you must remember, not only am I Catholic, but Protestant and a faithful follower of the Mother." He smiled, straightening as the beckoning hand of the captain caught his attention.

"Mr. Kirkland I didn't mean it with any disrespect."

"It's Arthur, Richard."

"Uh..."

"My name is Arthur," the nation said firmly patting his shoulder briskly, "The only time I go by the name of Kirkland is when captain is in front of it." He headed for the helm, his sea legs allowing him easy passage across the damp deck. Jogging up the stairs he took the gold painted spy glass that was offered to him.

"Thought that you would be interested in this." the scrubby bearded captain grunted pointing forward. At the gesture England turned front and extended the navigation device to its fullest extent, bringing it to his eye. And there it was just on the horizon, a blurry black line, a line that signified land. His growing excitement was pierced by a yell from the crow's nest.

"LAND HO!" A sailor shouted from the top of his lungs.

"Yes, land ho." the pale blond breathed handing the Spyglass back to the captain. His legs carried him down the stairs and to the climbing rope against the belly of the mast. He pulled the gloves from his hands, shoving them in the waistband of his brown trousers and hosting himself along the makeshift ladder. Lean muscles crafted by decades of physical activity made the climb an easy one as he scaled the distance with impressive speed.

"Excuse me, lad." he nodded at the young man that stared at him in shock as he hoisted himself into the crow's nest. "Yes there it is" he smiled clutching the edge. From up here the blurry line was much more defined. He rubbed at the tears that came from emerald eyes as the sea wind stung them.

"The New World," he breathed, "I'm almost there...the New World...and a little brother."

"Mr. Kirkland, if you would please come down here." came a shout from below. The country leaned over the edge to stare down at the explorer.

"Richard...I thought we had this discussion." he sighed, propping his chin on his palm. the explorer flushed with what could only be a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

"...Arthur, please come down. I need to discuss things with you before we land tomorrow." he beckoned.

"Oh alright," he nodded hiking over the edge, and muttered "Spoilsport." A stray rope caught his attention. He pulled on his gloves and he grasped the rope bringing it closer to his body.

"Ah! Mr. K-Arthur don't do that!"

"Richard, as an explorer your sense of adventure is extremely lacking!" With that the blond jumped, hands sliding down the rope at an alarming rate.

"Arthur! B-...uh." The Englishman stared blankly at the country figure that dropped down onto the deck in front of him. His cheeks were red with excitement, emerald eyes glowing with exhilaration, messy hair mussed even more, if that was possible.

"Now Richard," he said, breathing heavily with hands perched upon narrow hips, "Let's hustle on to the map room and let's get to discussing this New World."

Richard Grenville nodded and beckoned him toward the building. England put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Richard looked at him curiously waiting for whatever had come over the other man.

A serious expression came over the English nation's face "No. Correction. Let's discuss _My World._"

That night, even though the waves rocked the boat gently, the island nation was finding it impossible to fall asleep. He was anxious, anxious to see the new world, determined to beat that Frog at colonization He was also nervous, nervous about finding that small child that Finland had seen. He fervently hoped that Netherlands had not already snatched him up.

He didn't have a little brother and according to France it was his own fault. Being too stiff upper lipped, harsh and demanding. Never once had the words of the flamboyant Frenchman bothered him, until now. What if the boy had no interest in him? Worse, what if he didn't like him?

"Dammit to all hell." he muttered, rolling onto his side and pressed his cheek into the cloth of his blanket. He brought his knees up to his chest he willed himself to sleep. He needed all the energy he could get just in case that Frog was also there. He welcomed the small weight that suddenly settled on his hip. "Good evening, Flying Mint Bunny." he murmured, eyes cracking open to glance at the small fairy creature.

"England you are troubled, what is bothering your heart?" chirped the response.

"Well, I do have to shave in the morning" he said sarcastically rubbing at the stubble that was beginning to form on his aristocratic bone structure.

"England..."

"All right, all right." he sighed and began to spill his concerns out to the small winged rabbit. Eventually, the sand man visited the restless nation granting him the gift of much needed sleep. Sleep left him as a knock resounded through the small cabin.

"Arthur you need to come out here." Richard's voice sounded impatiently. "Arthur!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist." the pirate shot back stretching out with a groan of satisfaction as small pops sounded. He stiffened as it was the sound of seagulls that greeted him. Seagulls of this volume could only mean one thing.

Land.

Shoving the poor excuse for a blanket off if his body he bounded across the room yanking the door open to face a surprised Grenville. The explorer backed up quickly as the nation bolted from the door rocketing across the deck to the bow slamming against the gunwale almost falling head over heals. There it was, the shore of the New World, and it was perfect, it was his. Beaches of golden sand, decorated with what could only be shells as the seagulls screamed above him.

"Arthur-"

"Richard!" The country whipped around, "How long until we reach bank!? How long, sir!? Tell me!" He gripped the man's shoulders tightly shaking him, "Out with it!"

"Within the hour is what the captain has informed the crew and I."

"Ugh, a bloody hour! That is just too long!" He groaned throwing his hands up in the air. At this, small groups of people came forth from below the deck. These were individuals who were going to start the first colony of the New World. His attention shifted forward enraptured by the scene before him. Only when a man from the helm appearing to be in his fifties stood alongside him did he pull his eyes away. England stood stiffly, jaw clenched and eyes wide in apprehension as they fixed on the nearing shore. A wave of sympathy flowed over the nation was he leaned on his forearms. "It's a beauty isn't it?" England asked.

"I suppose, sir"

"Ah, is that a streak of distaste I detect?"

"Aye, sir."

"And why is that?"

"It's a foreign land, sir, a land that I am not familiar with," the man swallowed, "And to be frank, I am frightened. The fact that we have to start civilization here...that is a lot to be expected of us."

"Embrace it. It is a birth of a new world. Isn't the birth of a new calf, a lamb, or a child extremely exciting? The chance to aid in the growth and nurture of another being. Look at it that way" he looked over at the man with sudden interest. He was dressed different from the rest of the men standing around them. "What is your name?"

The look of worry left his eyes and amusement took over, "Lane...Ralph Lane," he smirked, "and you Mr. Kirkland, have been given the honor to touch new soil before anyone else." He gestured as the boat suddenly lurched.

"Sand bar!" A voice shouted, "Prepare to lower the first long boat."

In disbelief he looked over quickly at the mass of crew gathered along the gunwale looking at him expectantly. With many emotions England turned and headed for the two crew members that hoisted the boat into position. In no time at all the men and the country lowered the boat to the water.

"We shall return in due time." England called, looking into the faces of Grenville and Lane, two men he was sure would play large parts in his history and future. The time between the boat and the sand was a blur, time stood still for England. The waters were clear. "Almost perfect."

The country hurriedly untied his tall black boots yanking them off in haste along with wool stockings, ignoring the questioning looks from the two humans with him inside the miniature vessel. With a yank upwards of the trousers, pale slim legs were revealed to the burning sun, offering the flaming beast fresh flesh to burn.

"Almost there." he muttered impatiently gripping the edges so hard knuckles turned white. There! The first nudge of sand against wood. "Yes!"

Hosting his body over the side of the boat, chilled water splashing into the air, England, finally stepped into the ground of the new world.

England watched as the men began to put up small temporary shelters, building fires and pulling what food was left off the ship. He observed with jealousy the few men that had put together a party and ventured into the woods to look for fresh water, food, and anything else to fuel the fire. The minute he had jumped in the water and hit New World soil, he collapsed, unconscious as a surge of his people's feelings and his met him all at once. It was exhilarating, yet terrifying. He had woken up to Grenville slapping at his face in a panicked state yelling for him to wake up. He winced as he watched Richard pouring over a set of maps with Ralph, a large bruise forming on his face. The nation's first reaction had been to strike back at whatever was hitting him, he prayed that it didn't smart too much. Shifting restlessly he leaned back against the rough bark of a tree drawing circles in the dirt with his toe. Richard and Ralph had not been too pleased at the loss of consciousness.

They had instructed that he needed to keep within the camp area just in case something similar happened. But honestly! He was the country of England, a force to be feared! One little mishap should not result him to be confined to camp like a child to his detention desk. Looking around, he noted the attention that had been focused on him was no longer applied he edged around the tree slowly. He had no interest in helping the men in their endeavors, this was his new country dammit! And he wanted to explore it as he pleased! With that the blond nation slid behind the tree allowing the small woodland area to envelope him, calm settling over his person. Choosing a random path created by some creature he took it at a slow pace, taking in the sight around him.

The cry of seagulls and ocean against the shore was muffled here amongst the trees sparse with green leaves as the sub burned what was left of the morning dew away from the earth. The slight rustle of undergrowth and branches signified that there was life in these woods, yet they appeared shy as all the sounds faded away from him in panicked scurries.

"This land has much potential, I can see a thriving culture, happy people..." he smiled softly.

"Aha how stereotypical" he chuckled coming across a muttering brooke. Dropping to his knees he cupped a puddle of the clear water bringing it to his lips. "Ah perfect, this water is fresh and drinkable. I can see all the way to the bottom. Richard will be pleased with this find."

Splashing some of it into his face he settled down for a moments rest. Lounging back on propped elbows he let the rising sun pour down on him. "This place is comfortable, I like it here. I have the feeling that my time here will be long and prosperous." he smiled, a yawn following the comment eyelids drooping

It was the chill of evening setting in that startled the man awake. "Oh hell! I did not plan to sleep away the day."

Lurching to his feet and brushing dirt from his form realization fell upon him. In the shadow of twilight nothing looked familiar. He had gotten himself lost, literally, not only did he not know where he was and neither did anybody else.

"Ah bloody hell!" Anger at himself for making such a mistake fueled the country. "I'm pretty positive I came from this direction." he muttered and trumped into the woods. However to no avail the sun kept sinking in the sky his sister the moon climbing the sky ladder ladder for her shift. "Bloody hell it's getting dark!"

It was becoming difficult to see his hand in front of his face "Dammit" he muttered raking his hands through his hair and dropping them to his sides. "I do not fancy camping out here" with that thought process he trudged forward darkness falling like a blanket over the island. "I have been walking for at least an I should stop and sleep for the night."

"No, Mister you can't! The wolves are going to eat you!" A young voice broke his solitary state.

"Agh!" England backed into a tree hand flying to the pistol at his hip "Who's there!? State your name I command thee-"

"Mister, let's go!" A small hand grabbed his own "I don't want you to be eaten!"

"Wait a bloody second!" The voice was high pitched signifying that the individual was a child much before adolescence. Not allowing for England to stick a gender on the child with 100% accuracy, yet he would bet anything it was a boy. "Where are your paren- ah!" England was yanked forward with surprising force and strength.

"Come on Mister! I can take you back to your friends!"

"My friends...but-" he cut himself short as the child broke into a small run tugging him along refusing to let go of his hand. He had no clue where he was and this child seemed to know where he was going. England had no clue where he was going, but the child proceeded forward with un-interrupted by bumps and roots. It was not long until the smell of smoke from a fire filled his senses and suddenly a flame could be seen through the trees.

"Arthur!"

"Mr. Kirkland!" Shouts broke through the air, it was then that the small hand disappeared from his own.

"Wait child, where are you-" the small dark figure disappeared into the undergrowth.

"Arthur is that you?! Arthur it is! Everybody I found him!"

"Ah Richard…Ralph" he turned to look at the man that bolted towards him, oh and did they look pissed.

England watched, unhappy with the situation. The crew that was returning to the motherland loaded what cargo they needed for the travel back. The situation at hand was not favorable for anybody. Ralph and 107 men were to be left on the island and Grenville was going to send a relief fleet. It was August 17, 1585 and the fresh supplies and new men were not going to be back until April of the next year. Kicking at the sand England could not help toss a glare at Richard as he called for him, waving from the boat.

"Arthur it is time that we set sail and return to our Queen! Let us bring our news of success to her with open arms!"

"Arthur, we shall be fine, its not like we are simple aristocrats" Ralph approached him from behind, resting his hand comfortingly on his shoulder "We are men who are used to living off of the land and taking care of themselves. We shall fare quite well until you return." He assured his country with a firm grip.

"I still do not agree with the situation." Arthur muttered turning to look at the man, a scowl etched upon young looking features. The country was quite aware of the hardiness and stubbornness of the men that were staying behind at Roanoke. Nobody knew that better than he. They were his people after all.

That was also the reason for his concern. Even though he understood that it was impossible for him to shelter everyone from the dangers of the world he would damn well try to do what he could.

"We will be fine, do not trouble yourself with us. You have work to do back in London. Go and make sure the Queen does not forget her subjects here." Ralph laughed thrusting his hand forward.

"Aye. You say that you will be fine and I hold you to be a man of your word, Ralph." he gripped his hand shaking it with heart. "I also would like you to do a favor for me."

"Of course, what is it?"

"That first night here when I lost my way through the woods. I told you of that child that lead me back." He spoke up and frowned at the skepticism that lit the humans face "I know you think me daft and unnerved in that situation, but humor me. Please keep an eye out for the child for me."

"Aye, I will Arthur" he nodded releasing the nation's hand as another impatient shout sounded from Grenville.

"All right! All right! Grenville what did I say about getting your knickers in a twist!" he shouted and with a short tip of the cap upon his head, running for the longboat. He stared at the shore with a longing and uneasiness settling in his heart as he was lifted into the ship. Leaning against the gunwale he grumbled to himself until a small figure perched upon a rock caught his attention. A small child dressed in a beige nightgown, with blonde hair like amber waves of grain. He sat upon the rock waving wildly at the ship as it sailed away.

"The boy!" he gripped the wood tightly "I knew it! The boy was real! I was not daft in the least sense!"

He slumped backwards turmoil brewing in his breast. "But who is he?"


	3. Loosing the New World?

_1587 - 2 years later_

England heaved another heavy sigh as his quill scribbled across the parchment signing off that the document was acceptable for parliament and the Queen to waste their time on. Leaning back against the stiff wooden chair he groaned, stretching towards the high vaulted ceiling. He was waiting for anything to come and break the monotony of the afternoon. Orbs of emerald fixated on the yard that lay just outside the room.

Several aristocrats mingled aimlessly groups of women and men separated into their respective sex fawning over each other. Pairs of courting individuals mingling amongst them. He looked on with slight envy of the people that had those who had an important person. Of course, Elizabeth, and all of the people of his country were very important. He was starting to grow close to Lane and Grenville...but sometimes he wanted something else. Propping his chin is hand he let a sigh slid past his lips eyes lowering with the want for peace.

There was no way of knowing whether the colony was doing well, or who exactly that child was that he'd left on the shore. Was that the boy to which Finland had referred? He sighed, leaning back in his chair. Things were going south with Spain, he could feel it. The Spanish ambassadors were getting more and more demanding. Did they honestly think they could overpower him? An island nation? He chuckled, it was laughable indeed. He would stand against him and his self-righteousness. Spain must be thinking he rules the world, what with his colonies in the New World and fighting his way through Europe.

The thought of the New World took him right back to his earlier thoughts. He hoped that the men there were doing alright and were doing a stand up job of protecting their claim. His flag was on that land now, France and the others had no right to it. A door opened and closed from across the room, but considering that the person did not announce himself, it was likely only a servant coming to bring him ale or some food.

"You look positively melancholy, husband." Elizabeth said as she settled onto a seat beside him. He blushed and she laughed. He almost tipped out of his chair in order to rise respectively to his Queen, but she just waved him off. He settled back down and tried to keep his heart from pounding out of his chest.

"You should not call me that." he said, certain that her impropriety would get her in trouble one of these days.

"I did declare long ago that I was married to you, right?"

"When you were a girl."

"And again when I had been a foolish woman and made all the wrong allies. You are the only man that has never failed me."

"You are my Queen. And I'm not exactly a man." he replied, not sure what else he could say. He would be the first to admit that he rather liked her as a ruler, even if his brothers did not.

She smiled at him, and patted his hand. "Now, tell me why you are looking so sad."

"I am thinking about the colony in the New World. I won't be able to get any news about it for some time. Not to mention all of the trouble that Spain is causing me here."

"Yes, the Spaniards are quite the thorn in our side, aren't they?" she said. An announcement was called from the doorway and the secretary looked like he was going to faint at the sight of the Queen in the room.

"Your Majesty!" The man said.

"Carry on. I was just taking my leave." She stood up and offered her hand to England. He took it his own and pressed his lips to her fingers. She leaned close and kissed him on top of his head. "Do not be so distraught, Love."

The man stammered for a moment as the Queen exited before gathering himself and clearing his throat. "A Mr. John White to see you, my lord." the secretary said.

England furrowed his brow. The name was familiar, but he could not place him right away. "What's his business?" he asked.

"The American colonies."

England practically threw himself out of his chair. "Send him in at once." England stepped from behind the desk and rested on the edge. The man walked into the room and came before him with a bow. England had to restrain himself from twitching and rushing to the man to give him the news.

"My lord I bring word of the colony at Roanoke. We beseech the crown to send more goods and men as soon as possible, there has been a terrible struggle. When we arrived, we found no one, except a single skeleton. We decided to leave the colonists we had traveled with. My own granddaughter, the first English child born in the Americas amongst them. They are in desperate straights, sir." he said. England stared at his face, seeing the worry and lines. He'd left them when they were struggling and the passage was not short. England swallowed the lump he had in his throat.

"Of course, you will have aid. I will have it arranged." England said. He stood up so that he could look away and not let the man see the worry and hurt in his face. Was fate trying to thwart all his hopes? When he did not say anything for several minutes, John White turned to leave. England could hear his footsteps on the stone floor. "Wait."

"Sir?"

"A young boy with wheat colored hair... how is he?"

"Who?"

England whirled on him, "A child! In a white gown and light hair!"

White looked down for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "I remember seeing such a boy once or twice about the colony, but he would disappear back into the forest so quickly that I thought he was perhaps my imagination. I have not seen him for quite some time, not since the colony began running out of supplies."

The boy was missing. England's heart clenched in his chest. He squeezed his hands at his sides. "Thank you, Mr. White. You may speak to the secretary outside my chambers about supplies." White bowed and exited out of the room. England placed his palms on his desk and took a deep breath. The room felt stifling, he needed to get out.

He tugged at the collar of his shirt and headed out the back stair, frightening one of the servants as he headed down towards a door that led to the outside. He burst through the wooden door and was grateful that no one was milling around the entrance to the garden. He moved his way through the gate and disappeared amongst the hedges. He took deep breaths trying to keep the fear and upset welling up in his body. Had he lost him? Had he somehow lost the little boy?

"_Angleterre?_"

England cursed under his breath and wiped away at his eyes to get the tears that tried to escape. He hoped if he stayed quiet enough, France would go away and leave him be. It was not to be, he could see the other's clothing at the end of the hedgerow, too bright and French and just downright offending to the senses.

"There you are, Arthur!" France said, walking quickly toward him. England turned away, but it was too late. France had seen his face and when he grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around, England could tell France would latch on to his upset like a dog with a bone.

"Bit off more than you can chew, _mon ami?" _

_"_Hands off Frog!" He snapped impatiently shaking the flamboyant man's hands from his shoulders. "I do not have enough patience to deal with you at the moment, harass me later if you must."

"Ah, but I want to see you now. I've been hearing things." he said, stepping back just far enough that England would not be able to take a swing at him.

"What sort of things?" England asked, narrowing his eyes. His fingers twitching themselves into loosely made fists as if in contemplation about musing the face of the ever 'perfect' frenchmen.

"Something about your attempts in the New World not going as well as you hoped." France said, grinning.

"I suggest that you hold your tongue! Remember whose land you are in right now Francis!" England threatened allowing his anger to break the walls of formality, familiarity bleeding into his vocabulary.

"This is what happens when you have a lack of planning, my dear friend. If Spain had not meddled in my affairs I would have a thriving colony by now." he said. France brushed his fingers through his hair, pulling golden locks over his shoulder.

"Oh just sod off" he muttered crossing his arms turning his body away ignoring the prick of tears. He swallowed quickly "Why are you here?"

"I had business." France said, walking forward so he could stand beside England. He looked sidelong at the English nation and his expression softened. England turned away to hid his face, but too late, France had seen. "As for why I am here in this garden, I caught sight of you fleeing the palace and I know you only do that when you are angry or upset. It appears that I have gathered exactly what was your problem. Lost your little brother did you?"

"Stuff it." he muttered yet his voice lacked venom as he rubbed his arms. "I have lost no one, that I have not. You cannot lose something you never had." he whispered.

France frowned, "That is downright pathetic. You're being oddly demure today. Makes me want to hold you until you smile." France caught England around the shoulders and held him to his chest.

"France what in the bloody hell-" the English nation was caught between knocking the man's lights out or waiting until the tosser let him lose. He was not pleased at the increased burning of his eyes.

"There is some of the England I know." France released him and patted him on the cheek.

"Dont touch me with those perverted hands!" He swatted at him, nose wrinkling, "Who knows where they have been!"

"There you are _Angleterre_!" France gave him a squeeze and kissed him on the side of the head before moving out of his reach. "Now that you are without your doldrums, I can get back to my business." He gave England a wink as he walked down the hedgerow and back towards the palace.

"Keep your dirty french hands off my proper English women!" He shouted after the adjacent blond. "I swear if I see you even look at them I'll beat you right and proper!"

"You're welcome to come at me any time, darling. I'll be ready for you." France shouted back, innuendo lacing his speech.

England might as well have been painting the roses red for the color of his face. "YOU BLOODY TOSSER!" He screeched. France merely waved at him over his shoulder before disappearing out of sight. England was left fuming.

He turned and walked deeper into the garden, letting his anger burn. It kept away the cold of sorrow. He settled down onto a bench and tried to keep France's stupid face in his mind. It reminded him why he liked being alone, why it was stupid to hope. he sighed and let his head drop. Dropping onto a stone bench with sigh he rested his forehead on his knees, the coldness seeped back into his soul. He worried about the little boy that had led him out of the woods. Could it be his fault? Should he have left the New World with Roanoke in such a state? If he had stayed would the colony have been successful? Would Grenville still be alive? What of the boy, maybe he could have coaxed him to stay with him?

Approaching footsteps against cobbled stone caused England to look up as a man approached him. Based on the plainness of his dress he was a minor noble. Yet it was not the mans state of dress that held his attention but the grave expression on his features "Forgive my intrusion, my lord."

"It's fine, what is it?"

"The Queen needs to see you at once. We are at war with Spain."


	4. Battles in the New World

~*~ Chapter Four ~*~

"Elizabeth!" the name was shouted in anger as the island nation stormed down a highly decorated hallway. He knocked the door open to the Queen's personal chambers. He ignored the shrieks of protest from her ladies-in-waiting that scurried to cover their majesty who was only donning a nightgown as the sun began to sink. Storming forward he shook his head in disbelief at the powerful woman who merely brushed off the panicked ladies.

"You signed the Treaty! You signed it before discussing it with me! Elizabeth, you had promised me we would discuss such matters before any decisions came forth!" He stopped in front of her throwing his hands into the air. "What were you bloody thinking!" He glared at the royal woman who sat upon the massive bed. She straightened out the dark-colored silk sheets with a bored expression upon her features.

"My love are you quite done with your tantrum?" Her eyes changed from amusement to a steely resolve as she gestured her ladies from the room. "At the time the decision had to be made your heart and mind were not here, but in the new land."

"You should have summoned me!" he retorted settling his small body upon the bed using the bedpost as back support, a frown tightening his expression.

"Hush husband and listen," she mirrored his frown pulling her legs beneath her, "Yes, I signed it, the Treaty of Nonsuch with the Dutch. How could I not with that pompous Spaniard Philip signing the Catholic League not but a year ago? Yes, the Dutch rebels are just that, rebels, but it is a blow to Spain that I am most fervent about." The firm tone of her voice left no argument for the blond man currently occupying her sleeping quarters.

"Specifics." a hushed demand was England's response as angry emerald eyes threatened to burn a hole through her. He attempted to seem as angry as possible, hoping to get the point across. Yet, he always did have a problem with staying mad at Elizabeth, no matter how much he tried, she always seemed to get her way.

"I have signed this treaty in agreement with Ministers Leicester and Walsingham as they have finally convinced me to aid their goal. The treaty states that as of August 1585, I,Queen Elizabeth of England, promise to send aid to the United Provinces. A total of 6000 men, 5000 of them being footmen and the last 1000, being horsemen. They will be guided by a quality person who holds true to the faith and holds the rank of Governor-General." she finished, leaning back against her intricately carved headboard, folding her hands neatly upon her lap. She fixed her gaze firmly upon her nation, her eyes alight, challenging the boyish nation to argue with her decision.

He breathed slowly, as if not sure to yell or congratulate her. "I can't believe you signed this without discussing with me. Guaranteed, I would have had you sign it," he began, "BUT! You should have still contacted me." He added the last bit as he saw the law of victory light inside of her eyes.

"It is something that needed to be done with the utmost haste." Her expression turned serious "The spanish are becoming more and more of a problem and, frankly, I do not plan to sit around here like a simple woman that waits upon her husband." Folded hands turned into folded arms. "It is over and done with, time to move on." Stifling a yawn she glanced out the window as the sun disappeared from view, his sister the moon crawling into the sky to take her shift.

England stayed seated on the edge of the bed as she climbed beneath the blankets, wrapping her arms around a pillow. He'd known her her entire life, and yet still she could surprise him with her tenacity. He was proud of her.

She looked at him, a playful expression creeping back into her face, "You better get out of here, England, otherwise my ladies will think I've brought you into my bed."

He blushed and jumped off the bed and walked out into the corridor. Her laughter followed him down the hall as he made his way to his chambers. His own bed waited for him and he dropped down into it in full dress, not bothering to call for a groom to help undress him. He climbed under his blankets and buried his face into a pillow. War with Spain, an Alliance with the Netherlands, France being his usual bothersome self… and that little nation that John White was going to go back to. So many things to consider, so many things to keep him up at night.

_1597 - 12 years later_

England stood on the cliffs staring out at the ocean. The wind whipped at his hair and pulled at his clothes. Elizabeth stood beside him, her red hair blowing about in the wind. Clouds rested on the horizon, innocent as a sleeping lambs, but England sensed a wolf within them. That wolf would place its jaws around Spain's throat and crush him. He could sense it in his gut, in the ocean that lapped against his shores.

The war seemed to be stretching on and on, after the death of Scotland's queen the Spanish ferocity had only increased. Battles had been fought on land and at sea, and word of the Spanish building a navy that had never before been seen had been making its way across his borders for months. Now the truth was out there, Spanish ships stretched across the horizon carrying thousands of soldiers that were ready to invade his home.

He could feel the tension and nerves that were built up in the army behind him and the men on the ships out on the ocean. He turned to Elizabeth, "I'm going to join them on the ships. I can't wait to see that bastards face when I defeat him!"

She gave him a smile, "Your confidence makes me feel so much better about this entire ordeal. You do understand that we could be crushed by this attack."

"No we won't. No foreigner is going to defeat us on our own soil, in our own seas! It's ours!" He felt fired up, warmth filling every limb. Despite the forest of masts on the horizon he had a feeling, a feeling that he would be triumphant this day. Elizabeth patted him gently on the cheek, as though humoring a child. She headed back towards her tent. "My lady, I'm going down to join with the navy."

"If that is where you think you will be best suited." She disappeared into her tent, the white flaps tied down against the wind that was brewing. Until the flap fell down behind her England caught a glimpse of the worried and stern faces of the nobles. They were worried, he could feel it in his bones.

He shook off their nerves and called for a horse. He rode until he reached the base of the cliffs where the sound of the waves crashing was the most intense. He let the beast go and joined the men on the shore that waited for him with a boat. The clouds were beginning to roll in, a darkness starting to fall and the wind beginning to blow harder, causing the waves to crash against the small vessel and rock the larger ships. The ropes dropped and the men tied them so the boat could be pulled up onto the ship. England did not want to wait, he climbed up the ropes and onto the deck.

"Coming to join us, England?" came a familiar voice from the bow, "Must be a fair omen that we will succeed indeed." England looked up at one of the men who stood on the upper deck.

"Her Majesty did talk you into a command then, Sir Raleigh?"

"No ship was leaving once the Spaniards decided to come against us. Nothing would convince her to let me sail away." he said. England strode across the deck towards him. Raleigh came down the stairs and waved a hand in the direction of the captain's cabin. Lanterns shone through the open doorway, casting light on the faces of the men inside. Maps were spread across the table with markers laying about them, marking the direction of the wind and the location of the Spanish armada.

England leaned over the maps with the rest of the ship captains, this would be a glorious fight indeed.

The air was filled with the smell of gunpowder and salt and blood and the fearful sweat of men in battle. England loved every moment of it. The booming of the cannons and the crackling of splitting wood beneath the iron of a flying cannon ball.

The once innocent clouds had turned black and opened up their hearts to pour water down upon the combatants, pounding them from air and sea. England's clothes clung to his skin, but he barely noticed the salt in his eyes, too focused on the nearest Spanish ship and sending it to the bottom of the ocean.

"The wind is on our side!" came a shout from the captain. The ship creaked as it turned, throwing some of the men into rumbling waves and into the side of the vessel as she came around.

The cool air burned violently through his lungs , sight becoming like that of a steed with blinders. His attention was barely disturbed by the screeching atmosphere. His heart wept at each English men that was lead to deaths door but sang choruses of vengeance at every Spaniard that went as well.

"Fight them men! Spare not a single Spaniard!" He shouted "Send them to meet lady death in mangled heaps of torn muscle and bone! Swollen with the oceans salty blood as their body becomes food for her offspring! Remind them who England is!"

He tore his eyes from the screaming ships adjacent his own and threw himself upon the gunwale grabbing a rope to anchor his body. Yanking his sword from the sheath he stabbed it into the air his captains coat whipping violently about his legs and torso and yell tearing from his throat "UT! UT! UT! UT! UT! OLI CROSSE!" His bloody call rolled and boiled with pride at the choruses of his men.

"ENGLAND!" A voice scorched with anger shot through the wind. Eyes of emerald clashed with eyes of bright sienna.

"HA! Spain! About time you show your cowardly face! I was positive that you had turned tail and ran, like the bloody cur you are!"

"_Ingleterre_! _Eres tan estupido como un perro_!" _Stupid like a dog indeed_, thought England.

The brunette country snarled as hair whipped about his tan face violently as if representing the rage in his body. His movements became jerky and almost sloppy as the ships drew nearer to each other.

"IDIOT! You will swallow your own tongue and lay in a pool of blood from your own veins!" England yelled across the waves. The blond stared in mounting excitement as the adjacent man leapt up the ladder rope blade held between clenched teeth. He watched with thudding heart as Spain yanked a rope loose and twisted it about his hand, nimble body swinging into no man's land. Leaping back he slid across wet wood and blood bringing his blade forward. He watched, thrilled as the Spaniard released the rope, falling straight towards him.

"Pudrete en el infierno" _Rot in Hell._

"BASTARD! Of course in hell I will rot! Yet it will be your corpse that will decompose alongside my own!" Knees buckled with weight and elbows popped in protest as blade met blade, steel singing into the air. Mirth twisted his mouth upwards back bowing underneath the Spaniard's weight. "Have you decided it's time to get your ass handed to you, Spain?!"

"_Ingleterre_, I will sink your ship to the bottom of the sea with you tied about the mast! You have delusions of greatness, I am more than you will ever be." Spain snarled, swinging his blade around.

England caught the other man's blade yet again. "Gold means nothing on an ocean that is mine." said England. Leaping forward he pushed back with all his might, adrenaline fueling his stride. Back and forth blades screamed and protested as they struck each other. Whipping through the air lusting for a bite of blood and success.

The two nations were knocked off their feet when the masts of the two ships tangled bringing them together with a force that splintered wood and cast men overboard. Before England could get to his feet the ships tilted and sent him over the side.

The water was filled with debris and he struggled to get out of it before anything struck him from above. A current pulled at him, dragging him. He let the motion carry him, avoiding sinking sideboard and cannon balls that did not find their marks.

A sail drifted in the ocean beneath him, no doubt tangling a few unlucky souls and dragging them into the depths. As soon as he could feel air on his face he took a breath and then pushed his hair out of his eyes. He had surfaced several hundred feet from the ship. The rough water from the storm soon tore him even further away as waves traveled from the battle to the shore. A plank floated nearby and he grabbed on to it. He wanted desperately to rejoin the battle and to give Spain what was coming to him.

He couldn't see him as he was pushed closer and closer to shore. _No matter_, thought England, _he hasn't seen the last of me, yet._ As he drifted and his adrenaline cooled he considered Spain's words to him. Delusions of greatness, indeed. What did Spain know? England thought about the colony that was surely going to bring even greater wealth once he'd had men to properly discover it. He would show him. England had no doubt.

_March 24, 1603 - 4 years later_

The court had said their farewells and drifted out slowly, taking one last look at their monarch as she lay dying. England hovered near the foot of her bed, half-concealed in the drapery. He couldn't look at her.

His fingers twisted in the heavy velvet and the lingering scent of the courtiers saying their farewells to their monarch threatened to choke him. He was afraid to breathe, afraid to speak, lest he let emotion get the better of him.

"England." Her voice was frail, heavy with the sadness that was consuming her. There had been so much death in the past few years from illness, war, and age. When he looked up at her he was once again struck with the pain of knowing that his face looked the same as when they'd met and her own face that of an old woman. She raised her hand from the bedcovers to beckon him closer.

He moved and knelt by the edge of her bed. His fingers clasped around her thin, cold hands. She squeezed his fingers.

"You look sad, my love. Does death ever grow easier?" she asked.

"No." he said, he wanted to say more but his emotions choked him. He couldn't afford to not be strong for her now, not when everything was about to crash down around his ears. He dreaded the moment she would die. The fact that the nobles and advisers had been whispering in dark corners gave him a concerted unease.

"What will you do when I'm gone?"

"I will continue on. You made sure I will continue on." he whispered. She shifted on her deathbed to reach out. The tips of her fingers stroked his cheek. A weak smile crossed her lips.

"You were always the one I loved most of all."

His breath caught in his chest. In his years, England had seen many monarchs come and go, their lives sometimes seeming to last eons, and others only moments. He gripped her fingers in his and pressed her hand to his face. "You will be remembered."

Their eyes met. The light faded from hers and her breath stilled. The air shifted in the room and he knew she was gone. He held her hand for a few minutes longer, clinging to the last bits of life that remained in her body.

He stood, his knees protesting from kneeling on the stone floor. He walked slowly to the door, not looking back at the body. He stepped outside to the sorrowful faces of the English court.

"The Queen is dead."

England approached his chambers in a daze. It was not until he had entered his rooms that he realized he had a shadow. When the door didn't close with a satisfying thud, he figured a servant had come after him. He turned to dismiss the man, but the person standing there was no low level noble to serve him.

"Scotland."

"Little Brother."

"Go away."

"No."

England turned his back on him and went further into the room. He heard his brother close the door behind them. England swallowed, he wouldn't let Scotland bully him. He straightened his shoulders and turned to face him. Scotland raised an eyebrow, waiting for England's speech. "Elizabeth may have just died, but we are still the United Kingdom and I am in charge."

A smile slid onto Scotland's face. "Not anymore."

England frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Plain English, Little Brother. You made sure I knew how to speak it. I mean what I said." England's frown deepened. He turned away to ring for a servant, if Scotland was going to play games with him he might as well have some ale to better deal with it. A servant came quickly and darted back out again to fetch the required drink. When England turned back to the sitting room, Scotland had taken a seat, without a by your leave, in _England's _chair.

England's stomach sank. He'd been hearing whispers here and there about the prospect for his next ruler. Every time he attempted to inquire after the machinations of Cecil and some of the other lords his searches came to nothing. The way that Scotland was looking at him now gave him all the answer he needed. A plot had succeeded.

He didn't say anything until after the servant had come with the jug of ale and subsequently left. The silence lay heavy in the room. The sound of the ale hitting the bottom of the cup jolted his mind, but faded with the beating of his heart. He downed a cup. _Damn, I should have called for wine. _he thought.

"Are you going to speak, England, or merely drown yourself in ale." asked Scotland when England started in on the third cup.

"James is king," England choked out, "That's why you look so gleeful." England's fingers tightened around the cup when he heard Scotland laugh. James was the only son of Mary, Queen of Scots, executed years ago by Elizabeth for treason. They had been cousins, he was the closest in blood to the throne. England's stomach soured.

"Regretting your actions now? Which one I wonder, Elizabeth murdering his mother or refusing to bear any sons for England? You know that relationships with humans-" Scotland was cut off when an ale cup struck him in the chest. England regretted that it wasn't his face.

"How dare you."

Scotland paused trying to brush the liquid off his jerkin. He looked up at England, green eyes flashing, "Or what?"

"Or…" England realized there was nothing he could threaten. Scotland's king was now also Ireland's and his own king. He had lost his place, again. He shifted, positioning himself absentmindedly between Scotland and the door.

"That is what I thought, England." Scotland stood up from the chair and walked towards the door. He bumped into England's shoulder and stopped. England refused to look at him, staring instead into the embers of the fireplace. He felt a hand on his head. "Don't worry, Little Brother, we're still the United Kingdom, only this time I'm in charge."

A creak as the door opened. Scotland left, pulling the heavy door shut behind him.

England felt cold. He'd lost his monarch and his seat. He stood glowering at the fire for another moment before stamping across the room. He picked up the chair Scotland had just vacated and flung it hard into the wall, shattering the wood and knocking down an old tapestry. He picked up the pieces and flung them into the embers. The hearth began to blaze.

"I'll show you, Scotland." he said through gritted teeth. What he would show his older brother, he wasn't quite sure, but he was certain that he would.

"The bloody hell were they thinking bringing that Spanish bastard into my country and into Somerset house no less." grumbling from the island nation filled the hall as the blonde stormed down its length, followed hurriedly by the man, whatever his name be, who was to attend him to the meetings. James the first of England and the sixth of Scotland was now the ruler of his country. He wasn't sure what to think about he man just yet. He seemed as if was to have a decent head upon his shoulders. England however had no lost love for his mother, Queen Anne of Scots had given Elizabeth much trouble.

The country had been in her bed chambers at night to see how much rage that woman had caused his dear Elizabeth. Yet he had known her father Henry VII and was slightly conflicted on his feelings for the human male. Yes, Henry was, at the beginning, of his reign responsible for restoring political stability to his country but by the end of his reign it was filled with financial problems and distrust. But, that was his father, he was more than willingly to give James a clean slate. Approaching the door he came to stop taking in a deep breath, tugged at the bottom of his tunic and straightened his back. Grabbing the handle he pushed it open and entered the room, shoulders back and head high.

The meeting continued on without much haste and England hadn't been paying much attention. His focus was on the other nation seated across the way from him. He refused to break the glare that the Spanish male had locked with his own. If it wasnt for the good of his people he would have had no problem leaping over the table and planting his fist into his face. Keeping his gaze locked with Spain he was well aware of the pens scratching against parchment, the shuffling, the loud argumentative exclamation. The war had been going on for years and his people were becoming exhausted. It was time for this to end. It seemed as if hours had passed before the men about the two nations began to calm, this was it the time for the final decision. Sitting back in his chair England tilted his head in acknowledgment as a man cleared his throat. Enrolling the parchment fully the human began to read the verdict.

The protestant reformation has been protected inside of his land and James had refused the Spanish demand that they tolerated Catholics. At this slight burn stirred within the blonde nations breast, this meant many wars inside of his land were still to come. Along with this he also had to stop supporting the Dutch. This did not sit well either for he was good friends with the other nation, he would have to discuss this in private with James later. Despite this, England bit back a chuckle, his privateers mixed with the Dutch had destroyed much of Spain's maritime commerce and it did not look as if Spain would be able to build it back up anytime soon. A smirk of amusement lifted his mouth as he felt the waves of anger role of the brunette nation. Bloody fool thats what you get for messing with the English.

The scraping of chairs against the floor brought him back once again from his own mind. Good that was over. Filled with mild impatience England shook the hands of everyone that was deemed appropriate, though he wasn't sure if he could call what Spain and he exchanged a handshake, more like each one was trying to snap the others hand. Waving at the man that had followed him in he swept into the hall, pleased to be moving on to the next topic. Long legs filled with energy and purpose as he pushed out into the street. All of this had delayed him from doing what he really wanted. Colonial efforts had been delayed and as they now entered into the 17th century it was time to turn back to the new world, to that little boy.


	5. Protection

_Hey thanks for reading. Please Enjoy and leave a review_

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><p><em>Spring 1610<em>

The open ocean took a weight off of his soul. England felt free at last. Scotland could have his day, he would deal with him when he got back. For now, though, he was going back to fresh and new. The seas no longer churned red and he was not in the midst of a war. King James had concluded the war with Spain and for now everything was back in equilibrium. He looked west. He let go of the tribulations of the Continent and would think only of that land across the sea.

The ship was filled with relief goods to the settlers who had been too long without goods, surviving the strange New World. England leaned against the bow of the boat and watched the waves lap up against the wood. In the blue churning of a wave he was reminded of the little boy who had waved goodbye. The little brother that he'd gone looking for and had only briefly met. He swallowed the nervousness that rose in him at the thought of what White said all those years ago. The man had not seen the boy. England shook his head, it was not strange for a young nation to be wary of humans. He himself had hidden from the kingdoms when he was small and his people fought over him and the land. Just because no one had seen the little country did not mean anything.

He reminded himself of that everyday as he impatiently strode along the deck wishing that there was a way to travel that would take only days instead of weeks. The captain set him to simple tasks, understanding the nation needed a distraction as he got farther and farther from his homeland.

The weeks passed by, and England felt lighter and more hopeful with each passing one. Gone was the annoyance of Spain, Scotland's snide face, Ireland looking at him with rebellious eyes. They could all go to hell, he thought to himself. A new colony and a little brother that wouldn't have the history he had with his own brothers was waiting for him. He could feel it in his heart.

"Land!"

England dropped the wooden toy he'd taken to carving and jumped up from his seat. He climbed hastily towards the wheel and took the proffered spy glass. He held it up and looked at the coast of the New World... America, they had been calling it on the maps in the recent years.

"America." whispered England, the sea breeze carrying away his words toward the new land. Only a few more hours now and he would be setting foot on the shore.

"Planning on wearing a new trail in the deck of my ship, m'lord?" the captain said, smiling as they anchored the ship in the bay. The ship that had gone ahead of their own was already steady and smoke rose above the fence that wrapped around Jamestown. England continued to pace, despite the concerned stares of the crewmen, as they readied the boats. Something felt off about the settlement, and it made England feel twitchy.

"Ready to go ashore!" came the call and England lowered himself into the boat, taking note of the few people standing on the shore. The minutes to shore felt stretched into eternity. Great was England's anticipation.

The men standing on the shore looked gravely at the newcomers. English shoulders that once fixed with firm pride, bowed beneath the weight of malnourishment and despair. Cheeks that upon arrival had been bright with the coloring from the sea wind and high with smiles now sunk into faces, pulled down with frowns. It was a mixture of relief and resentment that focused on those upon the ship.

"We've had great hardships over the past winter when we had no supplies. Many of those who survived won't speak of the travesty that they suffered. We can only imagine the worst." said [whoever was in charge of Jamestown at the time]. England nodded. The man continued to speak, but England barely heard a word after that. He just looked at every face and could sense their suffering and the unease of those that first arrived to find them in their misery.

Nowhere he looked could he find the little boy that had waved goodbye to him so many years ago. Based on the suffering he saw around him he felt worried. "Mr. Percy," England said, "There was a child with the colony. Mr. White informed me years ago that he was not familiar with him. Have you... possibly?"

The man turned and looked at him, "Sometimes he is here and sometimes he is not."

"Is he here now?"

"No, yesterday he ran outside the town gates and no one has been able to go and look for him."

England turned on his heel and walked towards the towering tr andees that could be seen above their skeletal compatriots that protected the settlement. Once beyond the log wall he paused in the empty space between civilization and the wilderness. That boy had found him in the wilderness once, would he come to him again?

England searched as far as he could before making the decision to turn back at dusk. As he approached the settlement he felt exhausted. His feet ached and his eyes burned as they begged for sleep.

"Today was rather futile." he murmured to himself as he entered the sparse scattering of buildings along the edges. Reaching towards the sky he stretched with a groan. Few people milled about this late yet those out wished him a good evening. Nodding and smiling in response he made his way back to his personal lodging. Closing the door behind him he pulled his shoes off leaving by the door as he entered the small home. Eyes sliding over the small parlour that lead into the kitchen and dining area on one side and on the other a tall stairwell that lead to a second floor with the rooms for sleeping. Stopping momentarily to consider a quick supper, tiredness won out. Making his way up the stairs he sighed as he moved into the hall. There on opposite side was two rooms, one that he had taken up residence in and then other remained empty. Here in Jamestown he lived alone, much different than what he was used to at home in the castle.

His bedroom was plain, filled only with a singular bed, a bedside table and one bookshelf that seemed to bow underneath the weight of many books. Shrugging out of his clothes he exchanged the articles for a bedtime gown. Pulling back the covers he groaned as he slid into the comfort of his own bed.

"Tomorrow is going to be a repeat, at least I hope it will end differently." he stared at the wooden ceiling. It was not long before the sandman came and fulfilled his quota. To the countries distress and despair the next day turned out to be exactly the same.

He searched for days with no success. One evening when he came back into the settlement he noticed another ship anchored in the bay. He squinted into the last of the sunlight and considered going back into the forest and sleeping under a tree. There was no way just any French ship had stopped by, France was here.

England scowled and walked towards the governor's house. Despite owning his own home it was quite common for him to return to the governor's house to retire for the night. Hoping that maybe sometime the child would return to the home where he had been staying and that England would be able to run into him. The narrow streets were empty, all residents of Jamestown had gone inside their homes for the evening. He tried to enter the house as quietly as possible, maybe if he could just retire to his room...

"_Angleterre!" _

Damn it. England thought. He turned towards the small parlor where a fire lay in the hearth. A concerned Mr. Percy looked grateful for the relief of another Englishman as France lounged in his chair, somehow looking perfectly pressed and laundered despite the fact that he'd just been on the ocean. England tried not to think of the mud on his boots and the wrinkles in his clothes.

"France." he said, sitting down. The governor of Jamestown exited the room with the excuse to bring his country something to eat. "Why are you here?"

"I heard of your troubles and thought you would need comforting."

"I don't need your help." _For any of it. _England thought. He frowned at the other man. France's smile didn't waver.

"I would have you know, friend -"

"I am not your friend."

France cleared his throat, interrupting England's protest. "I would have you know, that your quest to achieve a younger brother is for naught."

England narrowed his eyes. He didn't say anything. Was the reason the young nation wasn't here was because France got a hold of him already? A fire started to grow in his stomach. If France had stolen _his _little brother he would get him back. The Frenchman wouldn't get him without a fight.

France continued in his speech. "He's such a sweet boy, my Canada. Quebec is going to be a grand colony." Momentarily, the Frenchmen seemed to get lost in his own 'cooings' and fawnings over the new child. Lost in his own 'Frenchie' world.

_His name is America. _England thought.

"It's certainly more successful than this hovel of a town you've created. What were you thinking putting a city in a swamp?"

England clenched his jaw.

"Ah, by the way, _Angleterre, _would you like to see a portrait of my boy?" France reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small disc. England reluctantly took the small painting and looked at it. His eyes widened. The boy in the picture was not the same boy he'd seen on these shores. He looked similar certainly, but there were a few things that were different. Could he have changed? _No, _England thought, _there is more than one._

England passed the portrait back trying to hide the relief he felt in his chest. _His _boy was still out there somewhere. He had been staring at his hands. He looked up. France gave him a strange look. "What?"

"You know something."

"No." England said, too quickly. France raised his eyebrows. He considered England for several minutes. England looked away from him and tried not to give away anything else to the older nation. He focused his attention on the wood grain of the ceiling.

France's boots slammed into the floorboards as he stood up. "There is another one!"

"I said no such thing."

"The fact that you are not raging at your loss means you have another card up your sleeve. This is why you always lose at card games."

"I do not always lose at card games!" France gave him a disbelieving look before sweeping past him towards the door.

"I must return to my ship."

England followed after him, "What are you up to, France?"

France grinned at him, "Absolutely nothing."

"He's mine! He will never be yours!" England shouted after him. France merely waved at him over his shoulder and exited out of the town with the retinue of men to row him back out into the bay. England returned inside the house and entered his room. He needed a new plan.

The next morning dawned cool but bright, spring was slowly creeping into the land. England sat on a rock just inside the forest listening to the sounds of birds he did not know, wondering what was out there, and waiting for the little nation that he'd seen decades ago. He frowned when he thought of France. The ship was gone that morning, but that meant nothing. France could have stayed behind to do some scouting. England thought then of Netherlands up the coast, could he have the little boy? He shook his head, Mr. Percy had said he'd seen the child only days ago, so he must be here somewhere.

He took a bundle out of his bag. The parcel was tied in a cloth and contained some of the food stores they had resupplied the colony with. He pinched off a piece of the bread and popped it into his mouth as he thought about what to do next.

An idea struck him.

He climbed off of his perch and set the food out. If the child had been as hungry as the people in the town, no matter his fear he should come for it. He left the food there and walked back towards the town. He went to work alongside the people in Jamestown, doing repairs and prepping gardens. He couldn't stop himself from glancing now and then towards the gate, wondering what he would find when he went back out.

The sun was on its way down and he stepped out to check the place where he had left the food. The pouch was empty on the stone. He looked around the space, his eyes sweeping over the ground. There! Small indentations in the dirt of small bare feet. He sat down his back to the stone, wondering if the little colony was still somewhere nearby. As the light disappeared from the sky he decided he could not keep vigil any longer.

"I'll be back tomorrow, America." he said to the dark trees, then walked back to the settlement.

The little boy shifted, poking his head out from behind the tree. He watched the strange person walk back to the town. The people inside had been so sad and hurt, and it had scared him. But, this person was different. He could sense he was more like him.

England returned every day, going out first thing, leaving a little snack or some other thing that would interest a child. Every evening when he returned it was gone. It was a Sunday morning and it had dawned bright as the summer wore on. The forest had greened since he'd arrived and the flowers were starting to bud. Today, he was going to wait. The child had taken to leaving small tokens behind in place of whatever England

He set down the package at the edge of the forest. Inside was a stuffed animal, a little rabbit, that he'd made out of some discarded cloth. America had been interested in some of the toys before. Anxiety began to roll inside of his chest, stepping back a couple of steps he turned, looking around the open field with trepidation. Digging his heel into the dirt he paced back and forth, getting lost in his own racing thoughts.

Dropping down after nearly an hour of pacing, he heaved a sigh looking up into the sky. It was nearly flawless, like glass spun by the master of the trade. The scene was only marred by a few clouds floating here and there. There was no smoke from chimneys or cooking fires. He could hear the birds in the trees and the way the leaves rustled against the branches. There was no clop of horses' hooves on stone paths or the shouts of merchants selling their wares. It was blissful peace.

A rustle in the grass caused him to look quickly from the sky, worried of danger. A child with bright blue eyes stood there with the toy in his arms, his face as startled as England's. His heart pounded in his chest. There he was. America tilted his head and looked at him curiously.

England reached a hand out for him. The little boy looked him in the eye, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"It's just a handshake, America."

America looked from England's face to his hand. He reached out tentatively. The tips of his fingers touched England's. He looked up into England's face and smiled. England could feel a warmth grow in his chest.

"_Angleterre!_"

They both jumped. America ducked back behind the tree. England held back a curse.

"What are you doing out here all by yourself? Ah!" America had poked his head back out of the brush, now staring at France. "Eh, so this is little America that you've been trying to starve into non-existence. Not as cute as my Canada, but…" France moved closer to sit beside England and held out his own hand. America looked at both of them, his eyes afraid once again.

"France! Sod off before you scare him off!"

"What are you talking about, England? It's probably those eyebrows of yours that are scaring him! Come here, _mon petit Amerique." _

"Frog!" the english country hissed, anger frothing in his chest. Looking at the child he breathed in deeply praying for calmness. He didn't want to scare the child more than the boy already was. He moved away from France and took slow careful steps to put some distance between himself and the other European nation. He crouched down once again and held out his hand.

"America, if you stay with me you'll grow up to be big and strong. We will dominate the New World together." America looked at him.

"America" England faltered as eyes glued onto the french country next to him. The pit in England's stomach grew heavier. This was really unfair to the child to be pulling on him back forth like a childs game of tug of war. Dropping back on his heels he grabbed at his ankles a distraught look upon his face.

"Good of you to accept defeat." France said to him, grinning. He beckoned to the young nation, "Come here and you can live with me and have fine French food every day."

America looked from one to the other. He'd seen both nations wandering around where he was born, as well as others who were settling further up the coast. The one who smiled at him with the long light hair was pretty much a stranger to him. He'd seen him occasionally, but only ever in the northern most places. He looked away from him to the man sitting on the ground.

He remembered him from the forest so long ago, before the scary times when the people got hungry and died.

"Well, have at it then France" he pushing off his knees and back to standing. Raking his hand through his hair he turned, planning to go back to Jamestown and help out. He might as well have been useful.

"Wait!" America hurried over to him, catching him at the back of his leg. "Don't go away, Big Brother."

"Excuse me?" England turned quickly to stare down at the small child. He was pretty sure that he was beginning to hallucinate. Maybe his ale had been a tad on the stronger side this morning.

"You came back after the scary time. I don't want you to go away again."

"The scary time?" Lowering himself back down with caution, so as not to startle the child, he looked the child in the eye holding his breath.

"It was cold and the people in the town were scared… I was scared…" Tears welled up in his eyes. He rubbed at his eyes, clutching the little toy England had made for him.

"Shh. Its okay, its over" England's voice dropped an octave as his gaze took in the sight of the small child. The boy had been obviously terrified during that time and it hurt the older nations heart. The child wouldn't have had to go through such an ordeal alone if England had been able to come back sooner. Reaching out, hesitantly, he laid his hand upon the third blondes head in a comforting gesture. "You're fine now, its over"

England looked up when he heard a chuckle. He frowned at France. The other just smiled at him and stood up, dusting off his clothes. "You win this time. He must see something in you that no one else does." England frowned, watching France walk away. He opened his arms and the little country climbed into them.

"From this day on, I'll protect you."


End file.
